It's Me or Irene
by ImagineThis22
Summary: A surprise rocks the relationship between Joan and Sherlock as they uncover a huge break in a case. Sherlock becomes distant and Joan feels that their new partnership and their friendship has been shaken to the core. Sherlock will have to choose between the love of his life or the woman who has helped him through addiction and has been through the roughest of times with him. (AU?)
1. Chapter 1

**_Here's my new series! I hope you enjoy it! _**

Joan Watson sat behind the mahogany desk that Sherlock had obtained for her, paging through part of a case Sherlock had told her to look into. She flipped through it for what seemed to be the millionth time and still saw nothing that caught her attention as to being suspicious. Joan yawned and shut the manila folder. She placed it down on the desk and rested her head on the desk for a few peaceful moments.

Sherlock entered the room holding a tray with two mugs of tea and rolled his eyes as he observed his partner slumped over her desk out of exhaustion. Did she not realize that you don't sleep until the case is solved? He could tell that she sensed him watching her because she let out a sigh. She knew that he'd be waking her any moment now and was trying to savor the rest.

Joan groaned as she lifted her head and reopened the case file.

"Sleepy?" Sherlock set down the tray and offered her one of the mugs.

She took the mug and cupped her hands around it, relishing the heat and letting the current of warmth travel through her hands and up her arms, eventually warming her entire chilly body. "More than you know." She sighed and took a cautious sip of the steaming tea. She swallowed the warm tea and let it tingle in her stomach and warm her interior.

Sherlock grasped his mug and took a large gulp, ignoring the blistering heat and the burning of his gums. He eyed his partner fixedly and sighed. "You know that the work that I –that we–do requires full attention and a sense of acute alertness. If you are this exhausted, Watson, how do you suppose you are ever going to be competent enough to decipher a complicated case like this one?"

Joan shot him a glare. "I'm not like you, Sherlock. I can't stay up for days on end; I _need_ my sleep." She blew on the still steaming tea and took another drink. "How can your mind still be attentive enough to function? I mean, I've been awake for…what? Twenty-six hours now? And I can't even focus anymore." She set the mug down and rubbed her eyes.

"Now you see why drugs were deemed helpful to me." Sherlock smirked, showing her it was merely a joke, not a sign of a looming relapse.

Joan frowned. "Not funny." She crossed her arms and stifled a yawn. "I may not be your _sober_ companion anymore, but I am your _companion_. I still feel it is my obligation to make sure you stay on the right path and not fall off the wagon again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was a _joke_, Watson. I will not relapse, not ever again. I will never, as you say, 'fall off the wagon', not as long as you're with me. Even if there comes a time that we drift apart and go our own ways, I will never stray from what you have taught me."

Joan was surprised about how much emotion Sherlock was displaying to her. "And what exactly have I taught you?"

Sherlock took a moment to reflect. "You have taught me that I am better without the use of narcotics and alcohol. I do not require them to function any longer. You helped me through the hardest points of my life, and for that I am grateful." He paused and polished off his tea. "You've seen me at my worst, you've seen how far and hard I can fall, and through it all, you've stayed. You've stayed beside me, supporting me and helping me through it. I, truthfully, believe that if I hadn't had the pleasure to be blessed with you as my companion, I would be still an addict today…or worse, I may have been dead, killed by my own addiction."

Joan found herself suddenly not feeling tired anymore. "You know I'm never going to leave you alone, Sherlock. Whenever you need me, I'll be there." She smiled to let him know that she was appreciative for the deep conversation.

Sherlock kept eye contact with her for a few more moments before he cleared his throat and got back to the matter on hand. "So has anything revealed itself to you as being suspicious?"

Joan left the conversation behind, knowing that it would be awhile before they shared another moment as serious as that one had been. She opened the file and tried to run through all the documents and records she had read in the previous hours, but nothing presented itself as being 'suspicious'. "I didn't find anything incriminating in this case. Did you uncover anything on your end?"

Sherlock stretched and stood up to begin pacing. Somehow, pacing helped him clear his mind and focus on minuet details that may have seemed irrelevant before, but actually turned out to be important. "I found details that would suggest that Moriarty had played a part in this transgression."

Joan arched her brow. "Moriarty? Why do you think _Moriarty _had something to do with this?"

Sherlock continued to pace and his hands began to fidget. "I know that this does not follow his usual profile, but I just…_feel_ that it's him. Something I can't place my finger on…"

Joan followed his movements with her eyes. "You're going to need proof if you intend on presenting this case to Gregson, Sherlock."

He stopped and scowled at her. "Well _obviously_, Watson."

Joan huffed and rested her head on her hand, her exhaustion returning slowly. "Do you have any kind of proof?"

"Like I stated previously, I do not. I have a gut feeling." Sherlock began to pace again.

"You also said there was something else. Something you couldn't put your finger on." Joan added.

Sherlock nodded.

"So if you find what it is that is making you feel like Moriarty is involved, maybe you'll get your proof." Joan continued.

Sherlock laughed. "_Genius_. I _never_ would have thought of that." He spoke with a hint of sarcasm.

Joan grimaced. "Shut up." She stood up and picked up her mug. She made her way out of the room and began to ascend the staircase to her room.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock followed her in suit.

Joan paused on the foot of the stairs and put one hand on her hip. "Bed. And you should too."

Sherlock smirked. "Joan Watson, are you inviting me to follow you to your bed?"

Joan laughed. "You wish." She climbed the stairs and left the night-owl consultant at the bottom of the stairs.

Sherlock watched her disappear into her room and yawned. Maybe some sleep _would_ be beneficial…for the both of them.

…

Sherlock woke to a strange silence. The brownstone hadn't been silent since before Joan had moved in. Ever since Joan had made the brownstone her home, there had always been some sort of noise, whether it was a shower running, the low hum of her iPod in her ears, or even the soft padding of her feet upon the hardwood floors. He sat up and began to move through the brownstone, trying to figure out why it was so quiet. He came back into the room with Watson's desk and found her deep in thought, hunched over papers splayed across the top of the desk. He cleared his throat to alert her to his presence and made his way over to her.

"What's this?" He asked, confused.

Joan yawned. "I couldn't sleep, so I came back downstairs expecting to find you still obsessing over the case, but instead I found you passed out on the couch. I decided that I'd take another look at the case and study your part of the case. You know what you always say, 'fresh eyes on a case can be just as helpful as a new lead'." She smiled.

"Why, Watson, I believe that I am finally rubbing off on you." He grinned proudly.

Joan's smile faded. "I'm pretty sure that's not a good thing."

Sherlock ignored her comment. "So, have you found anything?"

"Actually, I have. I can see why you think Moriarty did this…At first I thought it was because you planted the thought in my head, but after awhile, I had the same suspicion. Though this is not his usual murder profile, it still has his name all over it…" Joan placed a picture down. "See this?" She pointed to a dark figure in the shadows, behind the two people pictured in the photo. "This man is in every photo of the couples who died." She placed three more photos down on the table and looked up at him.

Sherlock observed the photos and nodded. "I see…Very good, Watson. I'm impressed."

"I just feel like…I don't know…that man is familiar somehow…" Joan stared at the mysterious man in the photos.

Sherlock squinted at the photo and he felt the same way. The man _was_ familiar…they had definitely seen him before, and recently. Sherlock thought back a few weeks and thought of every face he'd seen recently. Sherlock almost jumped as he suddenly remembered. The man from between the train…the one who had told him that he could tell Sherlock why Irene had been murdered. John Douglas.

He retrieved the photo of Douglas and held it up to Watson.

She took the photograph and compared the photo the other photos of the mysterious man stalking couples. "That's him…but, Sherlock, Douglas is dead…"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, he may be dead, but we have our proof. John Douglas is an associate of Moriarty, he worked for the man. If Douglas was involved, that means Moriarty was too."

…

Captain Gregson had received the email from Sherlock an hour ago and he had immediately dove into the case. He called Sherlock and had asked for any further information on the case, but they had only scratched the surface. Sherlock promised to call with anything else that was relevant to the case at hand. Meanwhile, Captain Gregson did some research of his own about the case.

He had found a record of unidentified fingerprints at the scene of one of the couple's murder and he had sent them to the lab to run them through the NYPD database. He was now waiting for a call, whether it was from the lab or from Sherlock.

His phone rang and he answered.

The information he received from the lab had shook him to his core.

He _needed_ to tell Sherlock.

…

Sherlock sat, cross-legged on the floor with papers encircling him. He was studying every documented movement of John Douglas, while Joan sat, pursuing further into the murder of the four couples.

As Sherlock's phone rang, Joan picked it up and answered for him, knowing Sherlock would've told her to ignore it.

"Hello?"

"Joan, I need to speak to Holmes." Captain Gregson spoke quickly, his voice trembling.

Joan sensed that there was something wrong and tossed the phone to Sherlock, who was now staring at her questioningly.

Sherlock caught the phone and turned speaker on. "Whatever it is, speak quickly. We need to get back to solving the case."

"Sherlock, listen. I found fingerprints and I sent them to the lab-"

"We found fingerprints too. I assume that they are Douglas'?" Sherlock rubbed his face.

"No. They are not."

"Then, whose are they?" Joan spoke loudly, so Gregson would be able to hear her from across the room.

"Sherlock, I need to know…when did you say Irene was murdered?"

Sherlock's jaw locked. "A year and a half ago…why?"

"The fingerprints were hers."

Sherlock almost dropped the phone. "No…no, this case is from six months ago…she's dead."

"Sherlock, the fingerprints would suggest that she is not."

"What are you saying?" Sherlock was gripping the phone so tight that he was surprised it didn't snap into pieces in his hand.

"What I'm saying, Sherlock, is that fingerprints don't lie. Irene is alive."

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	2. Chapter 2

**_THANKS FOR WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER. I WILL PROBABLY UPDATE THIS STORY EVERY WEEKEND, SEEING AS I DON'T HAVE TO WORK ON WEEKENDS…NOT YET ANYWAYS. SO, HERE YA GO!_**

The phone came crashing to the floor, landing on the hardwood near his feet. Sherlock stared off into empty space as a vacant look settled in his eyes.

_This _can't_ be. Irene is _dead_…she has been for two years now…It _has_ to be a mistake…_

"Sherlock?" Joan asked softly, as if projecting any louder would give him a heart attack. Joan didn't get a response, no twitch of a muscle in his face, no dart of the eyes, nothing. It was almost as if he weren't living anymore. Joan stood and hesitantly made her way over to him, careful not to jolt him from his trance. Joan knelt beside him and lightly touched the top of his hand. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

Sherlock felt the cold impression of fingertips on his warm hand and became aware of Joan beside him. "Irene…" He choked out, almost losing control over his emotions. He made eye contact with her and noticed the concern in her almond eyes.

Joan kept her hand on his and put her other hand on his back. "I think we need to get you some coffee." She started to help him up, but stopped when he grabbed her wrist.

"She's alive…How could she not tell me she's alive?" Sherlock asked, knowing that she would not have the answer for him.

Joan sighed and removed his hand from her wrist. She placed her hand over his and searched for the words to comfort him. "I don't know what to say, Sherlock, I don't have an answer for you as to why she wouldn't come find you…" She trailed off as she noticed tears overflow and drip down his cheeks.

He angrily wiped them away and stood up, leaving her kneeling by the spot he had been occupying a few moments before. He stomped into the hallway and wrenched open the closet doors. Sherlock searched for his spring jacket and he grabbed Joan's jogging sweatshirt. He tossed it to her as she entered the hallway and he proceeded to dress himself in his jacket. He threw the front door open and motioned for her to exit before him.

Joan was still standing in the archway, clutching her sweatshirt. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock huffed impatiently. "The precinct. I need to know the details of Irene's whereabouts."

Joan began to pull her sweatshirt on. "What makes you think Captain Gregson knows where Irene is?"

Sherlock tapped his fingers against his leg as he waited for her to zipper up her sweatshirt. "He may not know her exact location, but at least he has _clues_ as to where she is. I need to get there as soon as possible, _so_…" Again, more impatiently this time, he motioned for her to exit the brownstone.

Joan stood where she was. "Sherlock…I think we should at least _talk_ about this –"

Sherlock cut her off, "What is there to talk about? Irene is alive and out there somewhere. I need to find her." Sherlock's tone gave away that he was desperate. This was one of the only times he would admit it, too. If there was a chance that he'd be able to see the love of his life again, he'd take it.

Joan put a hand on her hip and sighed. "Sherlock…The way you're acting…It's almost as if we've backtracked to week one, where you were always cross and irritated. Almost as if…" Joan trailed off.

"Almost as if, what?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

Joan ran her hand through her hair and looked away from his glare. The intensity of his glare was so powerful that she'd actually felt uncomfortable and a little scared of him. He was angry and she knew that she'd overstepped. She sighed in defeat, "Nevermind." She pushed past him and exited the brownstone.

…

"Sherlock, all I can tell you is that the lab results came back on the fingerprints and they were Irene's. I have no idea where she is." Captain Gregson crossed his arms and sat on his desk.

Sherlock stood a couple feet away from Gregson's desk and was glaring at the Captain.

Joan stood back and allowed Sherlock to ask the questions so she wouldn't get in the way.

"Where were the fingerprints found? Did they have any residue that could lead us to what part of the city –or world for that matter- she could be residing in?" Sherlock was trying to get any minute details that could possibly bloom into a stronger lead. This was his only hope to find Irene…if there was no lead, he would never find her.

"I've told you everything that I know. All that came back were the results telling us that they were Irene's prints…" Captain Gregson leaned back. "Tell me this, Sherlock, why would Irene's fingerprints show up at a Moriarty crime scene?"

Sherlock glared. "What are you saying?"

Gregson held up his hands in defense. "Whoa, whoa…it was just a question, Sherlock."

Sherlock continued to glare. "I don't know why her fingerprints were there and I don't care. All I care about is that this proves that she is alive. Since she's alive, I'm going to find her…whether it's with your assistance or not." Sherlock stormed out of the office and out of sight.

Joan looked over at Gregson and gave a smile that read 'sorry'.

Captain Gregson nodded. "This really bothers him, doesn't it?"

Joan came closer to Gregson and nodded. "Irene was the only woman that Sherlock ever loved. Her death is the reason he doesn't get along with people well. When Irene died, he stopped trusting everyone…"

"He trusts you…" Captain Gregson eyed her inquisitively. "Are you worried about him?"

Joan nodded. "More than you know." She turned to take her leave, but stopped to add one more thing. "I haven't seen him like this since week one…I'm not _worried_ for him, I'm terrified."

…

Joan found Sherlock sitting on a rusty metal bench outside of the NYPD Headquarters main doors. She took a seat next to him and glanced sideways at him. She didn't speak; she knew that even if she did that he wouldn't listen.

"I know you're worried about me." He spoke, his voice barely audible over the noisy New York traffic.

Joan turned to look at him. "I'm always worried about you."

"You need not to be. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself." Sherlock seemed to be reassuring himself rather than his partner.

Joan smiled. "I know." Joan placed her hand on his hand again.

He looked down at her hand covering his and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You've always been there for me…Thank you, Watson." He let out a deep breath and stood, offering her his arm.

She took it and they began their trek towards the brownstone.

…

Joan finished preparing the tea and poured it into two mugs. She placed the mugs on the tray beside her freshly made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She picked the tray up and brought it into the parlor and set it down on an end table that was near enough to Sherlock that he wouldn't have to pester her to bring his food over. She grabbed her mug and her sandwich and sat down in one of the armchairs.

Sherlock reached out and grasped his mug, never even taking his eyes off the computer screen in front of him. He took a sip and placed it beside the keyboard. He took hold of his sandwich and bit into it blindly, nearly taking a chunk of his finger with it.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Is what you're looking at really so important that you couldn't look away for two seconds and make sure you didn't bite your hand off? I mean, I could've given you a sock between two slices of bread and you wouldn't have even realized it before you took a bite."

Sherlock spoke without averting his eyes from the computer screen. "I can't waste any time, even seconds are crucial."

Joan rolled her eyes again. "What are you even looking at?" She stood and came up behind him. She leaned down and put her face next to his so she could read what he was examining. She read the screen over and gasped. "These are the results from the fingerprints found at the scene…I didn't see Captain Gregson give them to you…" She eyed him suspiciously.

"I was hired to breach the Leviathan; do you think I wouldn't be able to hack an email account?" Sherlock clicked on the next email and smiled. "It seems our dear old friend Captain Gregson has just been prescribed some…shall we say, sexual performance enhancing drugs?"

Joan stepped back and groaned. "Sherlock, that's personal…How am I supposed to even look at him the same way anymore?"

Sherlock laughed. "My dear Watson, in what way do you look at him?" He smirked.

Joan took advantage of Sherlock's inattentive alertness and slapped the side of his head.

"_Ow_, what was that for?" Sherlock asked innocently.

Joan glared at the back of his head. "You've invaded somebody's personal life...Please log out or I'm going to tell him what you did."

Sherlock whirled around in his chair, the same smirk plastered on his face. "You wouldn't dare."

Joan narrowed her eyes. "_Try me_."

Sherlock sighed over-dramatically and turned towards the screen again. "Gosh, Watson. You are no fun at all." He clicked log out, but not before he had sent the results of Irene's fingerprints to his own email.

Joan smiled to herself. She had actually won a fight with the famous, difficult Sherlock! She  
flipped her hair as she turned to return to her seat. The smile only lasted so long, though. She found herself thinking about how she would even be able to face Gregson the next time they saw him. She shivered. She felt so weird for knowing the Captain's deep, dark secrets. "Gosh, Sherlock…Now I can't stop thinking about that." Joan saw his shoulders shake and she knew he was laughing. If only she had another basketball that she could throw at his head…

A doorbell made her snap out of her revenging thoughts.

"Better not be Gregson…" She muttered as she followed Sherlock to the door.

Sherlock pulled open the door and a blast of cold wind entered the brownstone hallway. Sherlock was frozen, his knees starting to give out. He leaned against the door frame to support himself.

Joan stepped behind him and put her hand on his back. "Sherlock? What's the matter?" Joan looked past him and at the blonde woman on the doorstep.

The blonde woman looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was wearing a large tan trench coat that cinched around her waist. She was in five inch heels and you could barely see her pencil skirt peeking out from beneath the trench coat. Her hair was beautifully curled and the perfect shade of blonde. Her eyes were piercingly blue, almost as if they looked into your very soul.

Sherlock was crying, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably and trying to mutter something that was inaudible.

Joan leaned in closer as Sherlock took a deep breath. "What is it? Who is she?"

Sherlock's eyes were still wide with surprise and terror. "Irene."

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	3. Chapter 3

**_Sooooo I'm off of school for four days:)…So I'm probably going to post one more chapter of either this story or Dog Day's…I also have about a week and a half left of school and I'm really going to start writing _****A LOT****_! :D I have more than fifteen ideas for stories after this one…so I'll try to wrap this up by the middle of June or so. Okayyy, well enjoy the story Elementary Fans!_**

Irene stood on the doorstep, eyes locked in on Sherlock. She smiled, "Sherlock." She took a cautious step towards him.

Sherlock backed up into Joan and continued to inaudibly blubber Irene's name over and over.

Irene took another step towards him. She stopped one step inside the brownstone and continued to smile warmly. "Sherlock, it's me…Irene."

Sherlock lost it. He pushed himself away from Joan and approached Irene in a hostile manner. "What happened to being _dead_?!" He screamed through choking sobs.

"Sherlock, listen to me-" Irene put a tender hand on his cheek.

Sherlock ripped her hand from his face. "Why? _Why_ did you make me believe you were dead when you're clearly _not_?!"

Irene backed up slowly. "You're scaring me, Sherlock."

Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his heart. "I'm scaring _you_?"

Irene ducked her head. "Sherlock, I'm sorry I didn't come to you earlier…"

"Do you know how broken up I've been about this? Thinking, all this time, that you were dead- murdered by a maniac?" Sherlock grasped her shoulders and shook her. "Look at me dammit!"

Joan pulled him away from the blonde woman claiming to be Irene. "Sherlock!"

Irene stumbled backwards. "Sherlock, please…_please_ listen to me…I know you're scared, but please, hear me out." She took slow, wary steps towards him, making sure not to cause him to snap again.

Sherlock clenched his fists and took a deep, calming breath. He looked her over and tears began to well in his eyes again. He thought back to all their memories with each other. When they first met in her London apartment, their first 'date' (which also developed into their first sexual encounter), the last time he saw her…and the day he had walked in and found the large crimson pool of blood with a note from the notorious M.

Sherlock unclenched his fists. "You have an hour. I'll prepare the tea." Sherlock turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen.

Joan watched him leave and when he was gone, she turned to face Irene.

Irene was already staring at her, a glare fixed intensely on Joan's face. "Who are you?" She demanded, her voice void of the emotion she had been displaying three minutes ago, not even.

Joan was startled by the sudden change of emotion. "I-I'm Joan Watson." She stuttered. She extended a hand towards Irene.

Irene stared at her hand until Joan lowered it. Irene resumed her glare at the woman in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

Joan glanced back at where Sherlock had disappeared and found herself wishing he'd return. When he didn't come back, she forced herself to look back at Irene's disapproving gaze. "I-I live here…"

This time it was Irene who was startled. She took hostile steps toward the ex-surgeon until they were square with each other. "You live here?" She spat. Irene's glare deepened, "What are you to him?"

Joan tried to take a step back, but the wall stopped her. She was trapped. "Excuse me?"

"I _said_, what are you to him?" Irene glowered.

"I was his sober companion…" Joan explained, petrified.

"_Was_?"

"I live here now as a partner-"

Irene interjected, "What _kind_ of partner?"

Joan averted her eyes from Irene's icy stare. It was almost as if this was a shell of the woman who had showed up on their doorstep only moments before. "I help him solve cases…nothing more."

"Are you sure? You have no romantic involvement with him whatsoever?" Irene's glare softened only by a little.

"I'm sure…I just help him when he needs it." Joan blurted out.

Irene laughed. "You should've just said that, love. I wouldn't have had to interrogate you like that." The spark in her blue eyes returned and a warm smile appeared on her lips. She took her leave and left Joan against the wall.

Joan waited until Irene left and let out the breath that she had been holding.

_What just happened?_

…

Joan walked into the kitchen and found Irene sitting at their table. Joan kept her gaze on Irene as she took a seat at the opposite end of the table.

Sherlock poured tea into three cups and added the tea-bags. He handed a cup to Irene and then set one down for Joan. Sherlock took a seat next to Joan with his mug in hand, wanting to be as far from Irene as possible.

"Your hour starts now." Sherlock's voice was monotone.

Joan eyed Irene suspiciously. The woman didn't seem to be hiding anything…but she also hadn't seemed like the person to become an angry, answer-seeking monster either. Who knows what this woman was capable of?

Irene took a deep breath and brushed a couple of blonde strands of hair out of her face. "I was in trouble, Sherlock. M told me that if I didn't fake my death, he would hurt you…and I love you too much to let you get hurt." She paused, in case he would proclaim his love for her too. He didn't, so she continued. "When I heard that you had plunged into your drug addiction, I almost went back on my promise to M. I really wanted to reveal to you that I was alive and well, but it was your life on the line...and mine, as well…"

Sherlock's expression remained stoic. "You're lying."

Irene ducked her head. "My dear Sherlock, I am not. Why would you think that?"

Sherlock leaned forward. "M didn't '_kill_' you. Moriarty did. But I'm sure you already knew that."

Irene shook her head. "No, _M_ told me to fake my death…not Moriarty." Irene paused in confusion. "Who _is_ Moriarty anyways?"

Sherlock smirked. "I repeat, liar- and a bad one at that."

Irene stood and sat in the chair next to Sherlock. "I'm not a bad liar, I don't lie at all."

Sherlock laughed in cynicism. "Oh _really_? Then what do you call _faking your own death_?"

Irene frowned. "I call it a service for the man I love."

Sherlock stopped laughing and took on a serious tone. "Who?"

"You, silly." Irene placed her hands on his. "I love you, Sherlock. I know what I did is unforgivable…at the moment."

"No, you're mistaken. It will _always_ be unforgivable." Sherlock moved his hands out from under hers.

Irene began to cry. "Sherlock, I am so sorry. Please, I will not be able to live without you telling me you forgive me…" She put her head in her hands and began to sob quietly.

Joan rolled her eyes, knowing this was all an act to make Sherlock feel sorry for her. Good thing Sherlock _never_ feels bad for anyone…or so she thought.

Sherlock's heart grew heavy. He hesitantly reached out and stroked her silky blonde hair. "Shh. It's alright." Sherlock moved closer to her and brought her into his arms.

Irene began to sob against his firm chest. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I never wanted to hurt you."

Joan's mouth was agape in disbelief. _How could he be falling for this?_

Sherlock caressed her hair and whispered in her ear. "It's okay, Irene…It's okay…I-I forgive you."

Unbeknownst to Sherlock and Joan, Irene smirked in triumph at the utter of those words.

She was forgiven.

…

Sherlock looked at the clock and sighed. Eight-thirty. Irene had already been there two hours longer than he said she could be.

Sherlock stood up to get his fourth cup of tea since the conversation had started. He made his way back to the table that was only occupied by Watson at the time. Irene had gone to use the facilities and they were awaiting her return to the kitchen.

Sherlock took a seat, this time closer to where Irene was going to be sitting.

Joan looked down at her mug filled with tea that had gone cold a long time ago. She spun the mug around on the table, every once in a while stealing a glance at the consulting detective. Joan took a deep breath and said what she had wanted to say two hours ago. "Didn't you say you wanted her to leave after an hour…?"

Sherlock met her gaze. "I may have said that, yes…But I did not know the whole truth…Now that I know, I thought maybe-" He stopped as Irene entered the kitchen.

"I better be going. I've overstayed my welcome and I am sorry for that." Irene looked past Joan and smiled at Sherlock.

"You did not overstay any welcome, in fact, I was just telling Watson that you should-"

Joan cut in before Sherlock made a huge mistake, "I'll walk you out."

Irene nodded and Joan rose from her seat. Irene stepped past Joan and planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "It was nice to see you, Sherlock."

"We'll see each other soon, I promise." Sherlock put his forehead on hers and stared lovingly into her eyes. "I love you, Irene." He gave her a short, but passionate kiss on the lips and then bid Irene a good-bye.

Irene followed Joan to the door and the ex-surgeon opened the door for her.

"It was…_interesting_ to meet you, Irene." Joan faked a smile. "I'm sorry you have to leave so soon…"

Irene grinned sardonically. "Oh, don't worry, my dear Watson." She stepped out on the doorstep and Joan could see a devilish spark in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

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**_SORRY IF YOU LIKED THE SWEET IRENE IN THE FINALE (WELL SHE WAS SWEET UNTIL THEY REVEALED THAT SHE WAS…YOU KNOW…) BUT I'M MAKING MY IRENE BE A BITCH. HAHA! THANKS AGAIN AND IF I GET TEN REVIEWS ON THIS CHAPTER, I'LL UPDATE BY MONDAY…OR IF I GET MORE THAN TEN, I'LL UPDATE BY SATURDAY OR SUNDAY! :) (MOST LIKELY SATURDAY IF I GET MORE THAN TEN ;D)_**

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	4. Chapter 4

**_Wellll I almost got ten reviews…I guess I'll just post a new chapter even though you didn't take the deal…oh well *sad sigh*…_**

**_ANYWAYS, I really hope you like this chapter! If you do, please review! -New Slogan! :)_**

Joan rolled over in her bed and groaned. She had not slept a wink after Irene had left their residence. There was just too much to think about.

Joan stretched and propped herself up against the headboard. She closed her eyes and thought about Irene's threatening words the night before. Irene had said that she wasn't going anywhere…What _exactly_ did she mean by that?

Joan rubbed the sleep from her eyes and mumbled in annoyance. She supposed that she would _have_ to get up _some_ time soon.

She lumbered down the steps and trudged her way into the kitchen. She covered her yawn with her hand and opened the cupboard. She poked around for any cereal that hadn't been in there past its expiration date and to her luck, she found a half-empty box of Lucky Charms. Joan closed the cupboard softly and retrieved a clean bowl from the other cupboard, a carton of almost expired milk from the fridge, and a dirty spoon from the sink. She rinsed off the spoon and shrugged. A little marinara sauce wouldn't hurt anything. She dried off the spoon with a towel and dropped it into her bowl of cereal that was void of milk. Joan opened the milk and sniffed it. It smelt…alright… She poured the rest of the carton into her bowl and tossed it into the garbage beside her.

Joan heard footsteps behind her and smiled. "I've already used the last of the milk, Sherlock. If you want cereal, you're going to have to eat it dry." Joan turned and her smile disappeared. She felt the bowl slip from her hand and heard it shatter on the ground with a clatter.

Irene was standing beneath the kitchen arch in a shirt much larger than she was and no pants, just panties. Irene was grinning wickedly. "It's okay…After the night he just had, he may want to skip breakfast and drink water instead. I'll spare you the details."

Joan couldn't speak, she was in shock. She must've looked completely idiotic with her mouth ajar and broken bowl pieces scattered around her feet in a pool of spilled milk.

Irene smirked. "Oh Watson, cat got your tongue?" She took light, quick steps into the kitchen, almost like she was floating across the floor. She tiptoed around Joan's mess and produced two glasses from another cupboard above Joan's head. Irene went to the freezer and filled the glasses to the brim with ice cubes. She then proceeded to fill them with cold water. When her trip to the kitchen was finished, she faced Joan once more. "Oh and love," Irene looked down at the mess around Joan's feet, "I'd clean that up if I were you…" She trotted away from the stunned ex-surgeon with a spring in her step. "Oh, and I heard we're out of milk. Be a dear and fetch some from the market, will you?" She called from the stairway.

When Joan was sure Irene was gone, she looked down at the mess she had created. She stepped out from the milk puddle, careful not to step on any broken pieces of the bowl, and obtained a wash-cloth to clean up the milk with. She soaked up all the milk and put the soggy cereal and the jagged pieces of ceramic bowl into the overflowing garbage.

So _that's_ what Irene meant by she's not going anywhere.

…

Sherlock skipped down the steps and found Watson sprawled out on the couch, remote in hand and a bag of chips near her body. "Morning, Watson!" He chirped happily.

"Good afternoon, you mean." Joan mumbled through a mouth full of chips. It had been hours since Joan's encounter with Irene in the kitchen…hours that had been more than a little noisy…

She waited for him to come out of the kitchen and caught him before he retreated back upstairs. "What happened to her _leaving_?"

Sherlock stopped and faced her. "She came back about ten minutes after you went to bed. It turns out, she forgot her earring when she used the loo! Can you believe that? It's almost as if fate brought us back together again." He smiled wide.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right…_fate_." She brushed some crushed chips off of the couch and onto the floor. "Well, how long are you going two going to be up there? I'm tired of constantly turning up the T.V."

Sherlock shrugged. "If I know Irene like I used to, she'll be revving to go for about…shall we say a few more hours?" Sherlock drank the whole bottle of water he had gotten from the kitchen in one gulp. "Feel free to go elsewhere for the afternoon…it will not get any quieter in here." He smirked.

Joan made a face of disgust. "Can you just go to _her_ place then?"

"We are at her place." Sherlock smiled broadly.

Joan sat up with a start. "_What_? You invited her to _live_ here?!"

"Of course I did, Watson. What possible reason would I have not to invite her to move in?" Sherlock cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Joan got up off the couch and ran a hand through her hair. "Oh I don't know," She spoke sarcastically, "Did you not think to consult me first? I do still live here, do I not?" She began to pace.

Sherlock put his empty water bottle down and came closer to her. "Of course you still live here…do you really think I'd let you leave?" He smiled and gently grasped her arm to stop her from pacing.

Joan smiled at his kind words. "Thank you, Sherlock. That was very kind-"

"Sher-lock!" Irene sang from upstairs. "Are you coming…or am I going to get dressed?"

Sherlock totally forgot about his conversation with Joan and galloped up the steps. "Be right there!" He called excitedly.

Joan watched him disappear behind his bedroom door upstairs and she sighed. Might as well head to the precinct…like he said, it's not going to get any less noisy…

Joan grabbed her coat from the closet and left the brownstone briskly.

…

"So, Irene just showed up on your doorstep…just like that?" Captain Gregson asked, leaning back in his office chair.

"Seems a little suspicious if you ask me…" Detective Bell muttered from beside Joan.

Joan looked over at him and nodded. "That's why I came here…well, _part_ of the reason I came here…"

"Part?" Gregson furrowed his brow and crossed his arms.

"They haven't seen each other in two years…I'm sure you can put the pieces together." Joan rolled her eyes.

Captain Gregson scowled and nodded. "Okay…So, it's suspicious. Do you think this is part of Moriarty's plan?"

Joan nodded. "It's more than likely that this is Moriarty's plan…Irene also may be a pawn in his game…"

"You think Irene is working with Moriarty?" Detective Bell asked.

Joan put a few strands of her hair behind her ear. "She may not be working with him, but it seems more likely that she is. She may be a partner or only just a mere pawn…But how am I supposed to tell that to Sherlock?"

Captain Gregson and Detective Bell shrugged simultaneously.

Joan sighed, "That's what I was afraid of…"

…

Joan walked into the brownstone and was immediately greeted with a delicious smell of fresh baked cookies. She made her way to the kitchen, hoping to find Sherlock…alone. To her dismay, it was the exact opposite.

Irene was hovering around the stove with an oven mitt on one hand and a tray of raw cookie dough in the other. Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

Joan entered the kitchen quietly, hoping Irene wouldn't know she was there and she'd be able to startle her just like Irene usually did to her. Joan opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off…as usual.

"Welcome back, Miss Watson." Irene turned to face her. "I made cookies, would you like one?"

Joan shook her head. "No, thank you. Where's Sherlock?"

Irene turned back around and put the tray of cookies down and discarded the oven mitt. "He's in the shower. I would've joined him, but I wouldn't want to miss your homecoming."

Joan frowned. "Oh yes, that would've been tragic." She began to exit the kitchen.

"Joan, wait." Irene spoke up.

Joan turned to look at her with an uninterested look. "What?"

Irene motioned for her to sit at the table. "I want to talk to you…Please?" She offered a smile.

Joan weighed her options and in the end, she decided to give Irene another chance. She walked over to a chair and sat down.

Irene took a seat across from her and smiled warily.

After a moment of awkward silence, Joan spoke up. "What do you want to talk about?"

Irene looked down at her hands and cleared her throat. "Sherlock and I have talked and…we _both_ think it would be better if you found some other place to stay…"

Joan crossed her arms and leaned back. "Really, you _and_ Sherlock thought this?"

Irene nodded. "It was hard for him, but I reminded him what you are to him."

Joan glared. "And what am I to him again?"

"You're a reminder. A reminder of his worst days. You were his sober companion…We both believe that you remind him of his days of addiction. It would be best if you left so Sherlock could carry on with his path to sobriety."

Joan scoffed. "Now I _know_ that this isn't coming from Sherlock. _He_ asked me to stay, _he_ asked me to live with him." She defended herself.

"We both know that is because you have become somewhat of a crutch for him. You're not needed here. I believe that you'll become a trigger…or maybe you already are. We wouldn't want him to go back to drugs because of you, would we?" She smiled evilly.

Joan smirked. "Well seeing as _your_ 'death' caused him to plunge into his addiction, I'd say _you're_ the trigger here, not me."

Irene glared at her. "Now you listen here you little…Oh _hi_ baby!" Her glare disappeared and her personality became bubbly. Irene jumped up from her seat and scampered over to him.

Joan didn't turn around. She was too busy trying to fight off the tears that were threatening to make their appearance.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Irene's waist as she put her arms around his neck. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her pulse.

Irene moaned. "Really, Sherlock? Your…housemate is watching."

Joan got up and took a deep breath to make sure the tears stayed away. "Don't let _me_ ruin your fun." Joan hugged her coat closer to her body and stormed out of the kitchen.

Irene watched her go with a victorious smirk on her face.

Sherlock followed Joan to the door. "Joan, you don't have to go. We relieved ourselves of all our sexual urges this morning." He smiled like it was the most normal thing to say to someone.

Joan turned to look at him with watery eyes. "I should go. It's what your girlfriend wants." Joan reached for the door handle so she could slam the door in his face.

Sherlock put his hand over hers on the door handle. "What are you talking about? Irene loves that you're here…"

Joan laughed in hysteria. "_Wow_, Sherlock, you couldn't be more oblivious!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Then tell me what I don't know."

Joan ripped her hand out from under his. "I didn't want to tell you yet because I knew it would tear you apart, but…" Joan looked past him at the woman glaring at her from the kitchen archway, "Nevermind."

Sherlock grabbed Joan's arm. "Tell me."

Joan wiped her tears away. "I went to go see Captain Gregson and Detective Bell this afternoon."

"And?"

"And we all believe that your _precious _Irene is working with Moriarty." Joan nearly screamed it at him.

Sherlock took a step backwards. He took his hand away from Joan's arm and looked at the floorboards.

Joan knew that she had made a mistake. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock…I didn't mean-"

Sherlock spoke without looking up. "You can return tomorrow morning for your stuff. I will pay for the moving truck and the storage locker until you can find a place."

Joan went numb. "What?"

"I want you out." Sherlock fixed her with a glare.

Joan felt the tears streaming down her face. "Sherlock, please-" She reached out for his hand.

Sherlock pushed her arm away roughly. "I said go."

"Sherlock-" Joan sobbed out of desperation.

"Get out!" Sherlock screamed louder than he had ever screamed before.

Joan turned and stumbled outside. She heard the door slam angrily behind her and she started to sob uncontrollably. She had just lost her best friend.

Joan looked up at the sky and was greeted by a streak of lightning. The loud thunder persuaded her to find shelter- wherever that may be.

She put up her hood and started out into the pouring rain.

**_*SOB* I really felt like sobbing when I wrote this. :'(_**

**_PLEASE FAVORITE/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	5. Chapter 5

**_I'm sorry that the last chapter was heartbreaking! :( Hopefully this one isn't too bad…_**

Sherlock slumped against the door of his brownstone. "She's gone."

Irene stifled a smile. "Oh hun, it's alright. You're better without her."

Sherlock pushed himself off the door. "Maybe…or maybe I've just made a huge mistake." He grabbed his coat. "I'll be back."

Irene grabbed his arm before he could open the door. "Where are you going?"

Sherlock tried to open the door, but Irene held it shut. "To find her. Please let me open the door." He tried to yank the door open.

Irene slammed it shut. "I think that you both need time alone…you know, to think things through." Irene put a hand on his chest. "Besides, she was going to leave anyways when we went upstairs…" She started to kiss up his neck until she found his lips.

"Irene…" He mumbled with his lips against hers.

Irene put her arms around his neck and pushed herself impossibly closer. "What do you say? Should we go for another round?"

Sherlock pulled away. "I think you're right…" He kissed her neck. "I think some time would do us both some good." He lifted Irene into his arms and carried her to his room where he slammed the door behind them.

…

Joan knocked on the large brown door marked **'APT. B22' **and hugged her sopping wet coat around her torso. She half-hoped that her tear-soaked face would be camouflaged by the rain that drenched her body as the man opened his door to find her standing there, water dripping off of her coat and hair onto the carpeted apartment building hallway.

"Miss Watson?" Detective Bell stood in the doorway, taking in Joan's pathetic appearance. He was wearing faded gray sweatpants and no shirt.

Joan couldn't help but stare at his toned chest and surprisingly muscular arms. She snapped her gaze away before he would notice and moved the wet strands of hair out of her face. "Hi, Detective."

Detective Bell knew something was wrong when he noticed her running mascara and puffy, red eyes. "What's the matter? Is Sherlock alright?"

Joan frowned. "Oh, _yeah_. He's _fine_. More than fine, actually. He _couldn't_ be happier!" Her voice was thick with broiling anger and heartbreaking sadness.

Detective Bell raised an eyebrow. "Joan? Is everything alright?" He put his hand gently on her shoulder.

Joan couldn't stand it any longer. She fell into his arms and began to sob against his smooth, bare chest.

Detective Bell put his hands instinctively on the back of her head and on her back. "I'm going to take that as a no." He smoothed her wet hair back and hugged her tighter. "Come on, Joan. Let's get you inside. You're freezing." He led her inside, never letting her go.

They both sat down on his couch and Detective Bell helped her peel off her wet coat. He placed it over the back of one of his arm chairs before returning to the couch where she sat.

"So, I'm guessing this isn't _concerning_ Sherlock, it's _because_ of him…am I right?" Detective rubbed Joan's arms to warm her up.

Joan nodded. "I'm sorry to just show up like this, but I just didn't know where else to go."

"What do you mean?" Detective Bell met her gaze.

"He threw me out. I didn't have anywhere else to go." Joan wiped away the tears and straightened up on the couch. "I'm sorry, this was stupid. I shouldn't be pulling you into this. I'm sorry that I showed up uninvited. I'll be going-" Joan stood up from the couch and headed towards the door.

"Joan," He followed her and stopped her before she made it out the door, "You're always invited here. We're friends, remember?" He smiled.

Joan smiled. "Yes we are. Thank you, Detective."

"I'll take the couch; you can sleep in my bed." Bell turned and left to retrieve his pillows. He came back with them in hand and tossed them on the couch. "I'll make you some hot cocoa to warm you up and then we can both get some much needed rest."

Joan nodded and watched him disappear into the kitchen. She took a seat in one of the armchairs and closed her eyes.

"Joan." Bell nudged her shoulder lightly.

Joan woke with a start. "Sherlock?" She rubbed her eyes and looked up at the concerned face of Detective Marcus Bell. "Oh, sorry. I must've dozed off."

The Detective nodded and handed her a mug of steaming hot cocoa with little marshmallows floating in the cream on top. "Bad dream?"

Joan ducked her head. "I dreamed Sherlock threw me out. So yeah, bad dream. Too bad it's real." Joan blew the steam and took a sip. She closed her eyes to relish the sweet chocolate taste. "Mmm. This is good, Detective Bell."

He smiled. "I _am_ pretty famous for my delicious hot chocolate."

Joan laughed and took another drink of her hot cocoa.

Comfortable silence settled between them. A calm, relaxed silence.

Joan was the one to break the silence, "I should be getting some sleep…I have to fetch my things from Sherlock's home tomorrow morning."

Bell set his mug down and looked up at her. "I'll retrieve your stuff for you and bring it here. That way, you won't have to go through seeing him again." He started arranging his pillows on the couch. "You can stay with me for awhile until you find a place…if you'd like."

Joan grinned. "Really? Thank you so much." She stood and bent over the couch he was sitting on to give him a friendly hug.

"Goodnight, Joan." Bell watched her head towards his bedroom.

Joan turned and met his gaze. "Goodnight…Marcus."

…

Sherlock woke to four loud thuds on his front door. Then he remembered. He had told Joan to come in the morning for her stuff. If there was a perfect time to apologize, it would be now. He snuck out of bed, careful not to wake the naked, sleeping Irene, and half-ran down the stairs, all the while pulling on his robe. He yanked open the front door.

He began to speak even before it registered to him who was actually standing there, "Joa- Detective Bell?" He was confused. Could there be something wrong with Joan? He sure hoped not.

Marcus stood with his hands behind his back. "Holmes," he nodded curtly, "I'm here for Miss Watson's belongings."

"_You're_ here for her things?" Sherlock looked behind the Detective at the car he drove here in.

Detective Bell noticed that Sherlock was eying the car behind him. "She's not here, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked back at Detective Bell. "Where is she?"

Bell crossed his arms. "I don't think she'd want you to know that."

Sherlock smirked. "There are only four people in New York she really knows enough to stay with…well, five if you count both her parents. Aforementioned people are me, Captain Gregson, her mother, her father, and _you_. Seeing as I'm the one who threw her out," he cringed at his own bluntness, "that eliminates me. Captain Gregson has a tiny one bedroom apartment and he lives a long subway ride away. That eliminates him. Both her parents are visiting her brother, Oren, in his place of residence for the month, so that eliminates them. And then there's _you_."

Detective Bell rolled his eyes. "Her stuff, please."

Sherlock opened the door wider so the Detective could enter. "Up the stairs, to the right. It's the dark brown door."

Bell nodded once. "I'll make sure to not overstay _my_ welcome." He glared at the consultant. He trotted up the stairs and shouted to the annoyed consulting detective behind him. "And don't even _think_ about showing up at my apartment looking for her. You are the _last_ person she wants to see."

Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his chest. Could Joan really be that mad at him? He'd have to find out.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and shut the brownstone door behind him. It'd be best to talk to her now before Detective Bell got back to his apartment and butted in on the situation.

…

Sherlock rapped on the door and patiently waited for it to open. He placed his hand over the peep-hole so she wouldn't have a reason not to open the door.

He heard the soft click of the chain being released from the lock and the creak of the worn door hinges.

Joan took one look at Sherlock and tried to slam the door shut.

Sherlock reacted quickly and wedged his foot in the opening to keep it from locking shut. "Joan, please."

Joan threw herself against the door and pushed hard to attempt to shut it to keep him out.

Sherlock winced at the pain in his foot from it being crushed by the door and its frame. "Joan, that hurts."

"Then remove your foot." Joan hissed.

Sherlock used all his strength to try and push the door open. Joan may be small, but she is far from weak. Sherlock had to muster up all his energy and strength to even open the door an inch. "Joan." He huffed. His arms were starting to get sore and he was out of breath.

Joan pushed even harder against the door, but Sherlock got a burst of adrenaline and the door swung open with ease. Joan ran towards Marcus' bedroom and tried to lock the door behind her, but Sherlock grabbed her from behind.

"Let me go!" She screamed.

"Joan, be rational! I'm trying to explain my absurd behavior!" He shouted back.

Joan stopped struggling and waited until Sherlock released her. She turned around and smacked him across the cheek.

Sherlock stumbled back and rubbed the place of contact. "Okay…I deserved that…"

Joan was seething. "You deserve _a lot_ more than a simple slap."

Sherlock straightened up and reached for her hand.

Joan angrily swatted his hand away and clenched her fists. "Don't even try to say you're sorry. I know you're not."

"But I am. Joan, stop acting like a child and let's have a mature conversation." Sherlock poised himself for another strike.

Joan snapped. She swung her clenched fist, headed for his jaw, but he caught her fist in his hand and held it firmly.

"Joan! I'm trying to say _I'm sorry_. Not just for last night, but for everything I've done to you! For every time I've ignored you, hurt you, or even fought with you." Joan struggled against his grasp, but he did not release. "It was wrong of me to throw you out, I wasn't thinking! This thing with Irene, it's making me crazy, confused even."

Joan scoffed. "Irene, Irene, Irene! That's all you ever talk about! Irene _this_, Irene _that_. Blah, blah, blah! Who _freakin'_ cares about Irene?! I sure don't!" She wrenched her hand from his and sat on the couch. Her anger subsided a little and she felt the tears streaming down her face. "Do you know what it feels like to be forgotten?" She looked up at him and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "When you threw me out, it felt like I had lost my best friend, like you replaced me with another. I felt worthless, I felt like I had done something wrong."

Sherlock sat beside her and cautiously placed a hand on her wrist. "Being forgotten is an old friend of mine. My father didn't care about me, I got used to it."

Joan shook her head. "You don't understand."

"Then _help _me understand."

Joan looked up at him and saw the genuine emotion in his eyes. "Before Irene, it was perfect. We became partners, friends even…but now that she's here…It's like she's pushed a wedge between us. It's like she's replacing me."

Sherlock scooted closer to her and brushed some hair behind her ear. "Nobody could _ever_ replace you."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Not even _the_ Woman?"

Sherlock smiled. "Not even _Irene_ could drive us apart. You're my best friend, Joan. I have never admitted it before, but I'm admitting it now."

A fully fledged smile appeared on her face as the silence rolled in. It was like all the anger and frustration had left and now the feeling of comfort and friendship remained.

Sherlock cleared his throat and stood. "Well, I better go tell Detective Bell that removing your stuff is no longer required." He offered her a hand.

Joan rejected it and stood. "No, I think it would be best for me to stay here for awhile."

Hurt flickered across Sherlock's features. "But, Joan-"

"I appreciate your apology and I will think long and hard about it. But, I'm not quite sure if I fully forgive you, Sherlock." Joan noticed the hurt turn into misery. "Sherlock, I believe everything you've said, but it doesn't change anything that happened last night. You've hurt me. You've cut me, deep…and I need some time to heal. I hope you understand."

Sherlock nodded. "I do. I'm sorry, Joan." He turned and she followed him to the door.

He entered the hallway and turned to face her. "Joan, what will it take for you to forgive me, fully?"

"Time." She responded and shut the door.

**_ALRIGHT, IT WASN'T THE BEST CHAPTER, BUT IT'S GONNA GET BETTER :) I PROMISE:D_**

**_PLEASE FAVORITE/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**

**_-I hope you like it! If you do, please review!-_**


	6. Chapter 6

**_ENJOY :D_**

Detective Bell blinked twice at the light peeking through the curtains and settling on his face. He rolled over and squinted at the clock on the mantel. Six in the morning. Time to get up.

Marcus groaned and slid off the couch tiredly. He straightened up and made his way to the bathroom to take his morning hot shower. As he made his trek to the bathroom, he casually glanced into the kitchen and did a double take.

Joan was sitting at his kitchen table with manila folders, blurry pictures, and many diverse documents scattered about. The table was so thick with the photos and papers that you couldn't even tell that it was a table anymore. It looked more like the beginning of a hoarders mess.

He stopped and rerouted to the kitchen, where Joan was engrossed in what looked to be a picture of a woman who had had her face smashed in so violently that you couldn't even tell who she was…or if she was even a woman.

"Joan?" He yawned, covering it with his hand. He looked her over. She looked like she had been up for hours already. Her hair was perfectly straight and clean, her light make-up applied, and dressed in her outfit. "When did you get up?"

Joan glanced up from the photo and smiled. "Oh, hi, Marcus. I was just seeing if I could be of any assistance in these take-home cold cases."

Marcus nodded. "But what time did you get up?" He repeated his question.

Joan looked at the clock and squinted. "Um, about three hours ago." She returned her attention to him.

Marcus' jaw almost dropped. "Who gets up at three in the morning?"

Joan laughed breathlessly. "Me, I guess."

Marcus laughed. "So what, do you have insomnia or something that prevents you from sleeping in…like a _normal_ human being?" He smiled.

Joan shook her head. "No, I've just grown accustomed to waking up each morning at three. I've found that it gives me enough time to get ready without Sherlock pestering me to hurry up." Her voice faltered as she spoke his name. She ducked her head and began to study another picture, attempting to conceal the tears that were forming.

Marcus' smile dropped and he nodded, knowing Sherlock was a touchy subject right now. "Well, I'm going to take my shower…It looks like you're already ready to go, so I'll hurry. I usually get to work at about eight, so we can grab some breakfast before we go to work, okay?"

Joan looked up at him. "So, am I going to work with you?"

Marcus nodded. "That's the plan. I mean, just because you're staying here doesn't mean you have to stop helping with cases." He smiled and left her to her files.

Joan smiled and returned to the blurry photographs.

…

"Captain Gregson." Detective Bell addressed the Captain warmly.

Captain Gregson smiled at the Detective and the other consultant standing just behind Marcus. "Detective, Joan, this is _new_."

Joan blushed. "I just thought I'd try working with Marcus for a day…I mean, Detective Bell." Her cheeks reddened even more.

The Captain smirked at Marcus.

"It's not what you think, Captain. I just want to show her how _I_ work." Detective Bell explained.

The Captain smiled smugly. "Yeah, I'm sure you do." Gregson turned to Joan. "That must be why you weren't with Sherlock this morning."

Joan furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

The Captain sat on the nearest desk and crossed his arms. "Sherlock came here this morning and grabbed the files for the new case. Another officer, he's in charge of the files, asked him where he was going and Sherlock replied that 'he was taking them home to his partner'…I figured that was you."

Joan shook her head. "He didn't tell me anything…" Realization dawned on her. Who was the only other person he'd call a partner? How could she be so stupid? Everything Sherlock had said to her the night before had been a lie! Sure, she'd told Sherlock she needed space and time to heal, but if he thought she'd be okay with this, he was wrong. More than wrong, actually. _Extremely_ wrong.

Captain Gregson looked confused. "But, you _are_ partners…right?"

Joan glared, not at the Captain…not at anyone in particular. She was just angry. "We used to be." She muttered lividly. She turned and left the building, preparing herself for another fight.

…

Joan composed herself and did her best to seem content as she knocked on the brownstone door. She found it increasingly difficult not to bang on the door or attempt to knock it down, hoping it would crush the consulting detective, who she knew was standing just inside the door.

Sherlock opened the door and smiled. "Joan, it's nice to see you."

Joan pushed past him and stormed into the brownstone. "Cut the crap, Sherlock. Where is she?" She demanded, venom in her tone.

Sherlock shut the front door and approached the ex-surgeon. "Who? Irene? She's upstairs…Why-" He watched as Joan sprinted up the stairs and began to violently open each door.

Joan got to the last door in the upstairs hallway and her heart felt as though it broke into two. The last door, the one Irene must be hiding behind, was her bedroom door.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." She pushed the door open and let it slam against the wall.

Irene was seated in front of a beautiful white vanity combing her hair.

Their gazes locked instantly.

Irene smirked her evil smirk. "Why, hello there, Joan. I wasn't expecting you today." She twirled around on her stool and grinned at the furious Joan Watson. Irene stood and approached her with attitude. "How could you ever leave this room behind? It's quite beautiful."

"You bitch!" Joan attacked Irene and they stumbled to the floor. Joan grabbed Irene's hair and began to pull it so hard, she was surprised the roots didn't tear right out of Irene's head.

Irene smacked Joan across the face and kicked her stomach to fight her off. Irene got to her knees and pinned the stunned ex-surgeon's arms and legs to the ground with her own limbs.

Joan struggled against Irene's weight on her arms and legs as Irene smiled menacingly above her. "Get off! Get out! Go back to being dead!" Joan screamed at Irene.

Irene lifted Joan's shoulders off the ground and slammed them onto the floor, pinning them in place again. "Oh, Joanie. I can't do that."

Joan struggled to get free and tried to kick her off. "What do you want?"

Irene bent down so that her face was inches from Joan. "For you to disappear…and trust me, _Moriarty_ can make it happen."

Joan spit in Irene's face and Irene jumped back off of Joan. Joan jumped her and immediately felt hands holding her back, restraining her from battering her target.

Sherlock restrained Joan's raised fist behind her back and twisted her arm around, disabling her by making her feel pain. "Quit it! Both of you!"

Joan spun around and viciously shoved him away. "I've had enough! Enough of _you_, enough of _her_, enough of _all_ this bullshit!" Joan stomped out of the room, her blood boiling. She made it to the stairs before Sherlock spun her around.

"Get a hold of yourself, Watson!" Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes.

Joan pushed him away from her. "No! You know what, Sherlock? I'm done. I don't care anymore. If you wanted_ her_ to be your partner all along, why did you even come find me yesterday? I was so close to forgiving you for what you did, but that is over. I will never forgive you; I _never_ want to see you again!" Joan took a deep breath. "I had to find out from Gregson that you went home to your 'partner' to begin working on the case. I thought _I _was your partner. You asked _me_ to be your partner, I never asked you. _You_ wanted me to stay, so I did. Now this is what I get? I get to be replaced by some should-be-dead bitch?!"

Sherlock glared at her. "You said you wanted time to heal."

Joan felt angry tears well up in her eyes. "Yes, but I didn't want you forget about me completely! You told me nobody could replace me, not even her!"

Sherlock took a step toward her. "That is the truth."

Joan ran her hand through her hair. "It doesn't seem like it."

"I understand your anger, but did you really have to come in here and physically assault her?" Sherlock motioned to the room Irene was recuperating in.

Joan had calmed down and her brain was unclouded by thoughts of revenge and rejection. "I will not apologize for what I did. She deserved it."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

Joan looked him dead in the eye. "Because she is in direct contact with Moriarty."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Here we go."

Joan defended herself. "She just admitted it to me! When we were fighting, she said 'she wanted me to disappear and Moriarty could make it happen'!"

"Unbelievable."

Joan grabbed his arm. "It's the truth. If you really were my best friend, you'd believe me."

Sherlock met her gaze and hurt masked his features. "I don't know _what_ to believe anymore."

"So what, are you saying we aren't friends any longer?" Joan let his arm go and crossed her own.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know! Okay? What do you want from me?!" Sherlock half-yelled defiantly.

"You have to choose." Joan uncrossed her arms and took a step towards him so they were extremely close, almost face-to-face.

Sherlock looked into her eyes. "Between what?"

Joan held his gaze. "It's me…or Irene."

**_THANKS FOR READING :) ALMOST DONE WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER!:D_**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW_**

**_-I hope you like it! If you do, please review!-_**


	7. Chapter 7

**_WELL, SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN A LONG TIME. EXAMS PLUS WORK PLUS AN EXTREME CASE OF WRITERS BLOCK PREVENTED ME FROM WRITING THIS. I HAD TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER OVER AND OVER ABOUT TEN TIMES BECAUSE I WAS JUST NOT HAPPY WITH IT. I HOPE THAT YOU LIKE IT THOUGH…THIS IS THE BEST CHAPTER OUT OF ALL THE OTHER ONES I TRIED TO WRITE. EHH…NOT MY BEST CHAPTER EVER, BUT WHATEVER…ENJOY ANYWAYS._**

Sherlock remained silent. Not because he wanted to, but because, truly, he did not have an answer for her. Choose between the love of his life or the woman who had helped him along the path of sobriety and stayed by his side, not out of penance, but because she had developed a very close relationship with him? They both had things he admired and both had things he was bothered by. Irene was a beautiful, young, vibrant woman who had eclipsed the whole of her gender. She was on his level intellectually and had proved to be the one he'd want to spend the rest of his years with. She had, though, faked her death as an attempt to keep him safe. He could think of many ways she could've sent him some sort of evidence that proved she was well…and alive. But, no. She had kept him thinking that she was dead and that had caused him to spiral down into his drug and alcohol addiction. This was where Joan came in. She had invaded his home, broke down his walls of security, made him resent her, and forced him to confide in her and trust her. And he loved her for that. That's it…he loves her. He loves the way she smiles…he loves the way she pushes her way into his business so she can understand him…he loves the way she is so eager to learn his ways, his skills, and well, learn about him. He had never had someone care about his well being before, and well, he had to admit he had started to enjoy it.

Joan frowned. "I see." She paused. "Your silence speaks volumes. You've picked Irene and once again, I'm forgotten."

"Joan, I-"

Joan cut in. "No. I get it. Your girlfriend is your priority…but you have been warned. She is working for Moriarty and if you are so blinded by her being here to see that, well…that's not my problem. Not anymore." Joan composed herself and left him at the top of the stairs. She descended the stairs and opened the front door. She turned and looked up at him, half wishing he'd run down the stairs, take her in his arms and tell her that he chose her and no one else. But to her dismay, he stayed in the spot where she had left him, staring at the floor and not at her. "And once you've come to realize the mistake you've made, picking her and not me…It'll be too late. I'll be gone, but don't worry…you'll have _her_." She spat venomously. She stomped out onto the porch and slammed the door behind her.

Sherlock took a step forward, attempting to chase after her, but Irene's hands were on his shoulders.

"It's alright," She cooed, "We'll get through this together."

Sherlock spun around and looked into her eyes. "You're right. _We'll_ get through this together."

Irene let out a confused laugh. "I just said that…?"

Sherlock's eyes became shadowy. "Yes. But, you were referring to you and me. _I'm_ referring to me and _Joan_."

Irene took a step back. "You chose her." Irene's eyes narrowed and she fixed him with a glare.

Sherlock turned back towards the door and began to descend the stairs. "I'm sorry, Irene."

Irene continued to glare at the back of his head. "I'm sorry too."

Sherlock has almost never been unprepared. He had always been fully equipped for every situation, no matter what it may be. He had always been ready and alert, but when Irene had been standing on his porch the week before, he had been unprepared.

Almost like now, how he was unprepared as stars burst into his vision and he tumbled down the stairs, his head colliding with the ground with a sickening thud.

Sleep became inviting and before Sherlock gave in, he hazily opened his eyes to see his assailant.

Irene was above him, gun in hand, and a twisted, devilish smile on her red lips. The used-to-be sweet girl features were replaced with a revenge-seeking, shadowy, mysterious look.

Finally, it clicked. Sherlock closed his eyes and huffed a soft laugh of acknowledgement. Deep down he knew, but it took seeing it –and Joan's warning- to help him give in. He didn't want to believe it, but how could he deny it with the proof standing above him.

Sherlock felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. "Moriarty…"

…

Sherlock felt someone twisting his arms behind his back and something tight being tied around his wrists. He peeked out and was greeted by a barrel of a gun a foot from his face.

Irene was crouched down in front of him with the evil smile still present. "Good, you're awake. For a second there, love, I thought that I had killed you…We wouldn't want our fun to end too soon." She lowered the gun and rested both her hands on her thighs.

Sherlock moved his fingers and stretched them towards his pockets. He rummaged around, trying to act as though nothing was occurring behind his back.

Irene laughed. "I've emptied your pockets, Sherlock. I wasn't born yesterday." She rolled her eyes and stood up. She walked over to the window beside the door and closed the curtains.

Sherlock looked around through squinted eyes. His head was pounding and black dots were scattered around his vision. He scanned the room and identified the room as his dining room. His arms were restrained behind the railing banisters with two hand-cuffs. One set with a lock and a second set that got tighter as you resisted and moved.

Irene was scanning the streets for '**_the mascot'_** as Sherlock tried wiggling his hands free.

Sherlock was unsuccessful as he tried to release the handcuffs and felt the metal digging into his wrists. "She's not coming back you know." He muttered.

"Who isn't coming back?" Irene asked, turning to face him.

Sherlock sighed. "The person you're looking for. Joan…She isn't coming back. Might as well just kill me now."

Irene crossed her arms. "You _love_ her…don't you?"

Sherlock met her gaze and held it firmly. "More than anything."

Irene grinned. "If I were you, I wouldn't have told me that. You know what Moriarty –_I _can do." She corrected herself.

"If you hurt her, I swear…" Sherlock tried to sound threatening, but he was slowly losing consciousness again, so it came out weakly.

Irene laughed. "Pathetic." She grabbed her phone from her pocket and dialed one of her minions. "Joan Watson. Find her and bring her to West 94th. I'll be there soon…I have to finish something first." Irene glanced at Sherlock.

Sherlock was breathing heavily, trying to maintain consciousness and prevent himself from passing out. "Don't hurt her…Please…" He pleaded desperately. "Kill me…let…let her live…" He managed to choke out between deep breaths.

Irene strode over to where Sherlock was restrained and raised her gun. "It was enjoyable to know you…I'm sorry we have to part so soon, but, you know, business is business."

Sherlock tensed up and waited for the bullet.

A shot rang out and Sherlock flinched. He didn't feel pain, no blood…He opened his eyes and his mouth fell open.

Irene was clutching her shoulder and cowering in a corner. She was crying and pleading for her life from the other woman holding the gun.

"Not so tough when I'm the one holding the gun, now are we?" Joan hissed.

"Don't hurt me…don't hurt me…Sherlock! Sherlock, please help me!" Irene was begging and bawling her eyes out.

Joan pulled the trigger and the shot went through the wall, inches from Irene's skull.

Irene cried out and tried pushing herself deeper into the corner.

"Joan, she's had enough…" Detective Bell emerged from the kitchen and stepped in front of Irene. He yanked her up by her bad arm (purposely) and clicked the cuffs behind her back. He led her out to the awaiting cruiser and let the ex-partners be alone.

Joan approached Sherlock and crouched down. She threw the gun across the floor and it skidded into the hallway and collided with the wall. Joan lifted Sherlock's head and looked into his eyes. "You know that I should leave you tied up as punishment for what you put me through, right?"

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. "But you won't…right?" He blinked, his eye lids becoming heavy.

Joan became concerned. "Don't close your eyes…" She felt the back of his head and came across a giant, tennis-ball sized bump on the back of his head.

Sherlock flinched as he felt the sting on the back of his head.

Joan moved her hands away and noticed blood on her fingers. "Bell! He needs an ambulance!" She looked back to Sherlock and put her hands on his cheeks. "Sherlock, stay awake. You _need_ to stay awake."

Sherlock smiled weakly. "I'm glad you're here, Watson."

Joan smiled. "You really think I'd let you go that easily?"

Sherlock's smiled began to fade and his head began to droop. His eyes closed and Joan yelped.

"Sherlock…Sherlock! Bell! Where is that ambulance?!" Joan caressed his face and ran her fingers through his hair. "Sherlock, please wake up…" Joan looked behind her and to her disappointment, she did not hear medical personnel, see flashing lights, or hear the comforting sound of an on-coming ambulance siren. Joan panicked and pried his eyelids open.

His eyes were rolled back in his head and his body had gone limp.

Joan slapped him, hard, across the cheek and he gasped in air.

"Sherlock…Stay awake."

"You…you slapped me…" He tried moving his arms, but they were still restrained. "Get these off…"

Joan looked at the cuffs and scowled. "I don't know how…Just stay awake and Bell will get them off for the medical people…" Joan looked behind her and groaned. There was still no sign of an ambulance.

"Joan…look at me." Sherlock demanded weakly.

Joan turned to face him with her features displaying panic, sadness, and concern.

"I want you…I want you to know…that I…that I chose you." He paused and sat up straighter. "You will always be my partner…My only partner. I almost…lost my best friend because I was so blinded by… by Irene's return. I guess…I guess…My brain was not in my head, but in my…in my…well, you know."

Joan laughed nervously and took another look at the open door. She felt relieved as she saw the flashing lights from the ambulance outside.

"Joan…" She turned to look at him again.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. They're here…You're going to be fine."

"Joan…" He said more demanding this time, "Before I go, I need to do something I should've done a long time…ago…" He blinked rapidly. "Come closer…"

Joan did as she was told and was awarded with him leaning in and kissing her.

He leaned into her and used all his energy to show her what she really meant to him.

Joan pulled away as she felt him stop moving his lips. "Sherlock?" She whimpered.

The medical personnel pulled her away and began to cut through the cuffs. They got him free and called in three other medics with a stretcher. They loaded him onto it and whisked him away to the ambulance.

Joan stepped up to one of the medics and spoke. "I want to ride in the back with him."

"Are you a relative?" The medic eyed her suspiciously.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Do I _look_ related to him?" She softened her tone and spoke before he left.

"I'm the love of his life…and he's the love of mine."

**_THANKS FOR READING! ONE MORE CHAPTER! :P_**

**_PLEASE FAVORITE/FOLLOW/REVIEW…_**

**_P.S. I GOT THE LINE "I guess…I guess…My brain was not in my head, but in my…in my…well, you know." FROM mmkbrook's REVIEW! :) _**

**_AFTER THIS STORY ENDS, I HAVE A NEW ONE COMING OUT…(I NEVER STOP!)_**

**_It will be called, "Just Like You."_**

**_Deduce whatever you can from that ;)_**


	8. Chapter 8-Epilogue

**_-*TWO WEEKS LATER*-_**

Joan hung her coat in the closet and shut it with her foot. She made her way to the kitchen and began to prepare a mug of sweet hot chocolate. Two weeks in the hospital with Sherlock had taken its toll on her and she needed a break. The hospital staff had advised her that Sherlock was fine and ready to go home after a week of tests and close observation, but Joan had wanted him to stay another week so he could have some time to heal and speak with the therapist. It had taken some bribing to make him agree to the therapist option and Joan was lucky she could make offers he couldn't refuse. All it had taken was one little kiss and she had him wrapped around her finger.

Joan gulped the hot chocolate down, ignoring the searing heat burning her gums. At least the pain woke her up…a little… Joan dropped her cup into the sink and ran the water to wash away the last of the coffee. She left the kitchen and made her way into the hallway, where she passed a mirror and did a double take. She looked _old_. The sleep deprivation and all the concern and worry for Sherlock had taken its toll on her features and made her look older. She sighed and contemplated whether or not she should take a nap before returning to the hospital to pick up Sherlock and bring him home.

In the end, her sleep demons won.

She trotted up the stairs and collapsed on her bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

…

Sherlock dressed in his button-up shirt and his old shabby jeans. He had asked Captain Gregson to bring him a button-up shirt as opposed to a pullover, seeing as his giant bump on the noggin was still very tender. He buttoned the last of the buttons and buckled his pants. He tied his shoes and pulled his jacket on.

"You're lucky she didn't kill you, you know."

Sherlock turned and found Captain Gregson staring at him from the doorway.

Sherlock adjusted the jacket collar and shrugged. "It would've been better that way."

Captain Gregson arched an eyebrow and approached him. "How so?"

Sherlock didn't look at the Captain. "No matter how many times Joan tells me she's over what happened, I don't believe her. I know I hurt her and I know she will always be angry with me."

"If she was angry with you –I mean _really_ angry with you, she wouldn't have come back for you." Captain Gregson put a hand on the consultants shoulder. "She knows that you picked her and I'm sure she's forgiven you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I owe her my life, but she does not owe me anything. I sometimes wonder why she even _stays_ with me."

"She loves you. That's why." Gregson shook his shoulder lightly. "And you love her. To tell you the truth, all my officers have been making bets about how long it would take you two to finally come to realize your feelings for each other."

Sherlock chuckled. "I do love her. But…"

"But what?"

Sherlock sighed. "But…She could do better."

"No, I can't." Joan spoke from the doorway, her lean body leaning against the frame and her arms crossed over her chest. She took confident steps toward him. "The reason I cannot do any better is because I'd just be comparing every man to you, Sherlock."

"And they'd all be better than me." Sherlock mumbled.

"You are the most intelligent man I've ever met…I'm one-hundred percent sure that every other man would appear dull to me." This earned her a smile from Sherlock, so she went on. "You are the best teacher, best detective, best partner, and my _best_ friend."

Sherlock took her hand and she smiled.

"Well, maybe more than a best friend."

Sherlock pulled her closer and kissed her lips. "I love you, Joan. I want you to know that. I chose you…I will always, _always_ choose you. You are the love of my life, you are the whole eclipse of your gender, and you are the only one I want to be with for as long as I live."

Joan couldn't help but smile wider. "I love you so much, Sherlock."

Sherlock pulled her closer once more and they sealed their love with a kiss.

A kiss, a promise. A promise to stay by each other's side for the rest of their lives, no matter what may happen along the way.

They'd make it through…together.

**_THANKS FOR READING! THIS WAS THE VERY LAST CHAPTER…SORRY IT WAS SO SHORT. IT WAS SORTA AN EPILOGUE SO, YEAH…IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT AND SWEET! :)_**

**_THANK YOU TO mmkbrook, JoanLock, marshmallowdeviant, Alexis, BlueTigress, red2013, Elementary Fan, LucyMiller, Little Missy123, AtTheBrownstone, Angeleene, futurelawyer126, nostalgicCyanide, Dina C, HaleyHolmes88, floratang, Hello, new adventures, Sherlock fan, JFJD, and all the guests who reviewed! You guys were very helpful to me when I wrote this story. Thanks again for everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed!_**

**_Make sure you read the prologue of my new fic called, "Just Like You."_**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**

**_Thanks again everyone! I love you guys! 3_**

**_-Hayley a.k.a. ImagineThis22_**


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